


Have you danced?

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time Together, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, flavoured lubricant, holmescest, sherlock gets his dance, takes place directly after, very slight spoilers for the sign of three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hush, just dance with me.”</p>
<p>And he did. In the dark of the night, under the stars and lights that carried from the dance floor, completely alone, Sherlock danced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have you danced?

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to Cinderlily33 who listens to me plot, porn and complain.

“Leaving so soon?”

 

The deep, rich voice cut through the distant music and laughter that had filled the cold night air and Sherlock's heart fell further, the last thing he needed now was his brother mocking him and his attachment to John.

 

“And why are you here?”

 

“You invited me, brother dear.”

 

“And you said no. I don't need you to point out my mistake, Mycroft, I know full well that I got too attached.”

 

Admitting it was hard, admitting it to Mycroft was hell. He had always told Sherlock that friendship was fleeting, emotions were useless and caring was far from an advantage and now Sherlock was proving him right. Here he was, alone, leaving his best friend's wedding after watching him cement his relationship and close the book on what was their life together. Everything was changing now, John was married, a husband, soon to be a father too, he wouldn't be running around London at all hours or putting himself in immediate danger for the sake of Sherlock's whims. Instead John's life would be working in the clinic, dinners with the wife and changing dirty nappies. It would be lucky if Sherlock got to see him at all.

 

“I'm not here to gloat, Sherlock.”

 

“Then why did you come?”

 

“Have you danced?”

 

Another little titbit about his life that Mycroft was able to tease him for. He had on many occasions during their childhood. The want of the younger Holmes to be able to dance was one the elder found rather amusing. He laughed each time Sherlock asked mummy to take him to a dance class, took various pictures and videos on sneaking into his room and finding him waltzing or performing some routine he had created in his head moments before. The mockery lasted throughout the years and became one of the main reasons Sherlock kept his little love to himself.

 

“Came to see the spectacle then?”

 

Mycroft chuckled softly, “Something of the sort.”

 

Clearly Mycroft knew the answer was no, that Sherlock had left the reception without stepping foot on the dance floor for anything more than a conversation with the bride and groom.

 

“Sorry to disappoint. Since you're here you can make yourself useful and take me home.”

 

“Follow me.”

 

Sherlock fixed the collar on his belstaf and followed his brother around the back of the building, slight guilt hitting him as the noise of laughter and music grew louder as they became closer. John would understand, he had made quite clear weddings weren't his thing, nor were people; hopefully John wouldn't twig on to the sense of loss that had made him leave the reception in the end.

 

Rounding the corner of the building, Sherlock looked for the familiar black car to take him back to his solitude in Baker Street, to start the next phase of his life, alone again. The thought of enduring a car ride with Mycroft's smugness was far from appealing but at least it got him home quicker.

 

“Where's the car?”

 

“I didn't bring you here for the car, brother.”

 

“Then why -”

 

Sherlock was cut off by Mycroft stepping closer and putting a hand on his waist. He smelt like he always did, that old familiar scent of whiskey, tea and cologne. The music coming from the hall behind changed from a quick tempo to a smooth, slow number and Mycroft took Sherlock's hand in his warm, soft grasp.

 

“What -”

 

“Hush, just dance with me.”

 

And he did. In the dark of the night, under the stars and lights that carried from the dance floor, completely alone, Sherlock danced.

 

Mycroft was skilled of course, too many formal balls with dignitaries had made knowing a waltz and foxtrot an invaluable skill. The elder Holmes lead with such grace and style, his rise and fall rivalled that of a professional and Sherlock was in awe. There was so much beauty in the dance, their coming together, forming one and moving to each beat of the romanticised music. Mycroft held steady when Sherlock attempted to take the lead and the younger sibling accepted his role and embraced it with delight.

 

When the music ended, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a sense of loss once more. He'd finally gotten his dance, a wonderful dance at that and with the only person he knew could truly match him.

 

“You have quite the skill, brother mine.” Mycroft purred with a smile.

 

“Surprisingly adequate yourself.”

 

The increase of tempp on the music behind them seemed to match the pace of Sherlock's heartbeat. His brother's smile, that secret smile he rarely used, the one reserved for those private moments with Sherlock, was firmly in place.

 

“You'll always have me, Sherlock.” he whispered, so low that Sherlock was barely sure the words had came from the man before him and not his own mind. Either way they were the truth, Mycroft was always there in one way or another and always would be. There had been so much surprise over being considered a best friend to John that Sherlock had never realised he was always one to Mycroft or that Mycroft had always been one to him.

 

No, he was more. More than a friend, more than a brother, more than that little voice in his head. Mycroft used tough love at times but never once had he let Sherlock down, not really. He'd protected him from bullies, helped him hone his skills of deduction, taught him what his parents and teachers never could, was there through the experiments with drugs and there in the background while he was off gallivanting with John. He even went undercover in Serbia and undercover is one thing Mycroft loathed taking part in on his way to the top of the government food chain but he had done it for Sherlock.

 

Brotherly love? A sense of duty? Why had he always gone above and beyond, even when his actions were never appreciated?

 

The music seemed to fade into the distance, the only noise was the beating of his heart and the air as he breathed it in. Mycroft's face was lit by the moonlight and looked stunning as always; Sherlock never understood why he was considered the handsome brother, Mycroft was sharp angels and freckles, not skin and bone but perfect, always perfect.

 

Mycroft came closer but he hadn't changed his position. Sherlock blinked and pulled himself back to reality, he was the one who'd moved, the one who'd tried to get as close to his brother as possible. He realised what his body was doing, what he essentially was doing but seemed to have no control over, it was all happening so quickly yet in slow motion from Sherlock's view. Suddenly his lips touched Mycroft's. It was soft, gentle, excruciatingly delicate when he craved so much more - but the waters had to be tested before jumping in.

 

Mycroft's lips were tense, he didn't return the kiss and quickly took a step backwards.

 

“Sherlock. We can't do such things.” His eyes were wide as he quietly snapped the words.

 

For years Sherlock had wanted this. He could remember as far back as thirteenth and craving his older brother's lips. So many times had he chastised himself for thinking this way, so many times had he tried to delete the fantasies he held. The longing turned to animosity and it kept their relationship healthy. Brother's fight, they do not fuck. But how Sherlock wanted it, he would never stop wanting until finally he had what should have been his all the long. Now finally he'd kissed the man he loved only to watch him step away in horror.

 

“Do you know the kind of trouble that could get us in? How could you be so idiotic?”

 

Honestly he hadn't thought. The moment had taken control and he hadn't cared if the entire wedding congregation was watching, he had to kiss him. Too many years of holding back, too many times of denying how he felt all because of shared parentage. Sherlock loved Mycroft, brother or not and it was time to show him and damn the consequences.

 

“Not _here_ , Sherlock. For gods sake, anyone could see.”

 

Not here? Not here didn't mean no, not here didn't mean stop, not here simply meant to move. Perhaps he hadn't ruined everything after all, perhaps, just perhaps, Mycroft felt the same.

 

Sherlock grabbed his brother's wrist without saying another word and lead him through the lobby and to the rooms, hiding as best they could from other guests. With ease he managed to unlock a room door, having had practice earlier in the day while letting the bridesmaids in to decorate the suite, and lead Mycroft inside.

 

The honeymoon suite had been covered with “Just married” banners, presents and gift baskets on most surfaces and rose petals strewn over the bed. It was tacky, though perhaps Sherlock didn't quite understand the tradition of the wedding night frivolities. There wasn't must time to contemplate his surroundings before Mycroft spoke.

 

“The honeymoon suite? Really, little brother?”

 

“You wanted away from prying eyes.”

 

“And you wish to desecrate the very bed in which your best friend will consummate his marriage?”

 

Sherlock couldn't stop the exasperated eyeroll, “Then we shall stay away from the bed.”

 

“We should be staying away from each other, not the bed.”

 

“Oh don't be dull, Mycroft. We've abstained for far to long, haven't we?”

 

It appeared Mycroft agreed when he stepped forward and placed his hand on Sherlock's waist.

 

“And you are sure you want this, brother?”

 

“Do you ever shut up?” Sherlock smirked and closed the space between them before pressing his lips to Mycroft's just as before.

 

It was different now, completely and brilliantly. Mycroft responded to the kiss, parting his lips ever so slightly and letting Sherlock's full bottom lip slide between his own. There was passion but no urgency, neither pushed to deepen the kiss nor pull away, they simply indulged in the pleasure of finally succumbing to one another.

 

Mycroft's strong hands pulled Sherlock tighter to him. Their bodies seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, as if the curve of Mycroft's chest was build to accommodate Sherlock's. Mycroft moved his left hand to his brother's hair and entangled his fingers in the wild and unruly waves of ebony. Sherlock remained still and took in each moment of their kissing, he catalogued each millisecond in an attempted never to forget though his mind kept zoning from concentration to lost in want, need and comfort.

 

When finally he moved, Sherlock pushed Mycroft's jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Temporarily Mycroft broke the kiss to complain but Sherlock recaptured his lips before a syllable was uttered, the pompous man would just have to deal with a wrinkle or two.

 

Sherlock's hands moved to the buttons on Mycroft's waistcoat, delicately undoing each one, taking his time as if unwrapping a valuable present. The elder Holmes let his brother continue, hesitant to touch Sherlock or undress him in case it caused the moment to stop and his sibling to change his mind. Doubts were soon appeased when he felt Sherlock's erection press against his thigh.

 

His brother's excitement increased his own and Mycroft began to take charge of the situation. He moved his lips to Sherlock's neck and nipped at the soft skin, drawing a small gasp from the detective's lips. He made quick work of Sherlock's clothes, wanting access to more skin as quickly as possible. With each second that their erections were trapped beneath their trousers, the suppressed lust bubbled to the surface. Each move became more wanton, moans slipped out from each man and finally Mycroft got his way and Sherlock's torso was exposed.

 

Mycroft gazed over his pale skin, he'd seen it just over six months ago covered in angry red welts, bruises and bandages over the deeper wounds made by his captives in Serbia. Now the bruises were long gone but scars remained, fading but visible and able to fill Mycroft with regret from letting Sherlock suffer.

 

“Stop that.” Sherlock chastised, “Now!”

 

Mycroft attempted to put the thought from his head but it kept pushing to the forefront of his mind. Clearly the remorse still showed in his eyes as Sherlock reached down between them and began rubbing Mycroft's clothed erection to bring him back to the moment.

 

The action certainly had it's desired consequence as instantly the elder Holmes gave a choked moan and resumed kissing along Sherlock's clavicle and teased the small pink nipple beneath his fingertips, causing Sherlock to throw his head back and be taken over by the pleasure. A moan came when Mycroft's tongue flicked over the other sensitive nub and his teeth grazed the flesh.

 

Lowering himself to his knees, Mycroft kissed his way down Sherlock's stomach, paying careful attention to the raised scars as he moved lower. His hands expertly opened Sherlock's trousers and pulled them down along with his underwear, removing them along with Sherlock's shoes and socks.

 

Sherlock was a beautiful sight standing naked above him. Pale skin, dark curls, blue eyes, a body an artist would crave for their muse. He was undeniably stunning and Mycroft drank it in.

 

Having Mycroft on his knees wasn't something Sherlock let his mind often drift too. He thought of his brother as more commanding and dominant but then he had only ever thought of his brother fucking him out of anger, annoyance or spite, never love. Sherlock has always thought he'd be the one on his knees, likely begging for forgiveness as his brother forced his cock into his mouth. It was a scenario he loved to let his mind slip to when he lost control of the fighting but he'd always crave this, the soft, sensual and loving sex that he never thought he'd have.

 

To Sherlock's surprise Mycroft completely ignored his erection but instead took hold of his younger brother's hips and turned him around.

 

“Hands on the wall, spread your legs. Trust me.”

 

The words weren't barked as an order but made as a suggestion, one which Sherlock readily complied with. He inched his legs apart, placed his palms flat against the wall and took a nervous breath.

 

Mycroft's large hands began massaging Sherlock's ass and spread the cheeks to expose his entrance. The younger Holmes gave a whine when he felt Mycroft's tongue lick a broad stripe from his perineum to his hole. He'd never expected this from his brother, he'd dreamed but never did he think it would ever happen. His mind stopped thinking the moment he felt Mycroft's tongue lap at the ring of muscle and begin to push inside.

 

It was an amazing sensation. Mycroft's tongue was skilled at wetting and slicking Sherlock's entrance while it teased and when he added to the sensation by reaching around and slowly rubbing Sherlock's hard cock, his knees began to go weak and he physically wobbled.

 

Mycroft pulled back, knowing his poor little brother needed more support. Quickly he surveyed the room to find a suitable place for them to continue. The bed was out – violating John and Mary's honeymoon suite was bad enough without ruining the somewhat sacredness of the wedding night bed. The room also contained a small couch, two chairs, a coffee table, dresser and stool. The obvious choice was the couch although it was filled with gift baskets and presents for the happy couple.

 

Rising to his feet, Mycroft nodded in the direction of the sofa and Sherlock walked over, slightly off balance, and cleared an area for them as the elder Holmes stripped the remainder of his clothes. A particular basket by the bed caught Sherlock's eye, one which the maid of honour had prepared as a 'special' gift for the newly-weds. The basket contained various condoms, fur covered handcuffs, massage oil, a blindfold and flavoured lubricant.

 

Sherlock scoured the basket and returned with one of the small bottles of lube, “Cherry flavour.” he announced to Mycroft, “John hates cherry” he smiled as if it justified them using the gift for their own pleasure.

 

“Ever resourceful, brother.” Mycroft's voice was a purr again, a beautiful deep purr that vibrated in every nerve of Sherlock's body.

 

The younger Holmes snapped open the cap and squeezed a drop onto his finger, tasting it with a pleased hum.

 

“It's not bad.”

 

“I don't believe the purpose is to eat it, Sherlock.”

 

Oh how he would prove his brother wrong.

 

“Sit.” Sherlock ordered with a sly smile and Mycroft obliged after moving the last of the gifts from the small couch.

 

The smell of artificial cherry filled the air as Sherlock knelt between his brother's legs and squeezed the flavoured lube on to his hand. He looked deep into Mycroft's eyes as he stroked his thick cock, covering it in the lubricant before bringing his hand to his brother's mouth and letting the elder Holmes suck the liquid from his fingers.

 

A small groan of approval came from Mycroft as he took Sherlock's fingers into his mouth, tasting the sweet cherry. Sherlock lowered his head and copied Mycroft's actions on his cock, each time Mycroft licked, Sherlock licked, when he sucked, Sherlock sucked. The men worked in an unspoken harmony, Mycroft showing Sherlock exactly what he wanted by his actions on his younger sibling's long, dexterous fingers and having it replicated expertly on his erection.

 

When Sherlock took his hand back he added more lube to his fingers as he continued bobbing his head on Mycroft's shaft, taking more into his throat each time. His mouth was devilishly stretched around Mycroft's width and the elder brother watched as the raised veins on his dick ran across and disappeared between his lips.

 

With his slicked fingers Sherlock began working himself open, pushing into himself as far as he could with the first finger and quickly adding a second. He moaned at the sensation and it vibrated along Mycroft's shaft, waves of pleasure flowed through Mycroft as he watched the perfect scene unfold.

 

“You must stop or your preparation will be for nothing.”

 

Reluctantly Sherlock drew his mouth away from Mycroft's cock. As much as he wanted to taste his brother's come, he wanted more to get what he had wanted from his teenage years, he needed it, he had to have Mycroft fill him.

 

“I rather like cherry, don't you?” Sherlock smirked.

 

The younger Holmes rose to his feet and straddled his brother, kissing his passionately, hungrily, wantonly if not slightly sloppily with need.

 

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather I - ” Mycroft muttered between kisses.

 

Sherlock bit Mycroft's bottom lip, “Shut up!”

 

“I was merely thinking position, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock bit harder, “I said shut up.”

 

Reaching behind himself, Sherlock took hold of Mycroft's cock and positioned it, slowly sinking down. He was incredibly tight despite the preparation and Mycroft couldn't contain the moan as his cock was enveloped by the tight heat of Sherlock's ass.

 

Slowly Sherlock began rocking, taking Mycroft inch by inch until he was able to sit flat on his brother's lap. He kissed his elder sibling, giving himself time to adjust and enjoy the pleasant sting of stretch, to memorize the moment he finally got his fantasy lived.

 

Running his hands through Mycroft's chest hair, Sherlock began to move. Slowly at first, angling himself perfectly so that the raised veins on Mycroft's cock grazed against his prostate with each move. The feeling of his brother inside him was indescribable, it was better than every time he thought about it and every time he had taken someone else in the wish it would slate his lust for his sibling. A loud rumble coming from deep in Mycroft's chest suggested he felt the same or was at least enjoying the moment and being buried in his brother.

 

With each movement the pleasure grew. The men stared into each others eyes, soaking up the intensity of the other. Sherlock entwined his fingers in Mycroft's chest hair, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive nipples. As bliss began to fill every inch of his body, he reached between them and began stroking his cock, attempting to match his pace with his own bodies movements.

 

Mycroft's hands gripped Sherlock's hips and he thrust up into his brother, there were bound to be bruises left but neither of them cared in that moment, lust was all that mattered. His nerves buzzed as he stared at his younger brother, watching him become dishevelled, falling apart in his very hands and enjoying every second of it. Warmth began to pool in his stomach, his face clearly gave

it away as Sherlock stroked himself at an increased pace until he came with a whimper of Mycroft's name.

 

Sherlock's release coated his hand and their stomachs. His muscles gripped Mycroft tighter and the sensation became too much. Mycroft moaned loudly and came deep inside his little brother, years of sexual tension finally leaving him as he filled Sherlock.

 

They stayed locked together, Sherlock collapsing onto his brother's chest, head buried in his neck, listening to his breathing and his heart beating rapidly.

 

“You needed the exercise.” he teased.

 

“I needed you.” Mycroft responded honestly.

 

Time seemed to stand still as they lay on the couch, wrapped in each other, but reality came crashing back. John and Mary would be coming to this room soon and neither of them wanted to be caught by the newly-weds in this position.

 

It was with great reluctance that Sherlock finally removed himself from Mycroft's cock and made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. Mycroft followed quickly behind, hands finding his brother's waist, keeping close contact with the soft, pale skin.

 

They were unable to control the smiles as they redressed. Sherlock fixed his brother's tie and Mycroft pulled him in for a long, languid kiss.

 

“I'm glad you decided to come, Mycroft.”

 

“As am I, brother-mine.” He smiled, “As am I.”

 

 


End file.
